


The Not-So-Fake Affair

by YumYumPM



Series: Not-So-Fake [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has spread a rumor that Napoleon and Illya are more than friends and Mr. Waverly is not pleased.<br/>Originally written 2004</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Act 1 - Rumor has it.

Napoleon angrily slammed down the phone; that was the fifth time this week he’d been turned down for a date and it was only Tuesday. The door to his office slid open and his partner hobbled in leaning on crutches.

Without preamble Kuryakin stated, “Did you know we are having an affair?”

“Huh?”

“Rumor has it that you and I,” he said, pointing first to Napoleon and then to himself. “are having a love affair.”

Napoleon’s eyebrows crept up to the top of his head. “Who would start a rumor like that?” he asked incredulously. Then after some thought they said in unison, “Wanda.”

“I know she doesn’t like me, but why…?" Napoleon wanted to know.

“I have no idea. Personally you are not my type.”

Napoleon started to respond in kind, then he considered: blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, pouting mouth, except for gender, Illya could definitely be his type. Just then the phone on his desk rang and they both received a summons to Mr. Waverly’s office.

Mr. Waverly was pacing behind his desk as the two men entered his office. Throwing down a folder on the table and sending it turning toward the men, Mr. Waverly said, “As a rule U.N.C.L.E. stays out of the private lives of its employees. However, in this instance what you two are doing not only endangers yourselves, but this organization as well.”

Napoleon and Illya looked at each other not really understanding what Mr. Waverly meant. Solo opened the folder to find four 8 x 10 glossy photo’s, none of which were the least bit incriminating. Then he remembered Illya’s rumor. “Sir, we aren’t…” Solo started.

“I don’t want any excuses. I want your word that the two of you will stop this foolishness or U.N.C.L.E. will be forced to find each of you new partners,” Waverly continued.

Since neither man had done anything it was an easy promise to make. They made their way back to Napoleon’s office and Illya plopped back down in the nearest chair, propping his foot on another chair. Napoleon sat behind his desk and laid the four prints side by side on it. All four pictures where of him and Illya, but none of them were compromising in the least. He picked up one to study it more closely. It showed him, a drink in hand, and Illya, his back to the camera with his hand on Napoleon's arm, whispering something into Napoleon’s ear. From the smile that showed on Napoleon’s face, whatever Illya had said must have been wicked. Now where had this picture been taken? He frowned as he tried to place it.

“Napoleon.” 

Napoleon raised his hand to signal for Illya to be quiet as he closed his eyes. Then he had it, the foreign embassy party. Now what was it that Illya had said? He couldn’t for the life of him remember. Turning the photo toward his partner he asked, “Remember this, the embassy party six months ago?”

Illya picked up the photo, frowned then nodded.

“What are you telling me in this photo?”

Illya’s frown deepened as he concentrated. “Ah yes, Angelique.”

Of course, Napoleon remembered, Illya had pointed out that Angelique was also at the party, that was why the wicked smile. To someone who didn’t know though, it took on an entirely different meaning. The other three photos were the same. Perfectly innocent, but could be slightly misconstrued and in each case, if he was not mistaken Angelique had been somewhere in the vicinity each time. Why? Why the photos? Why the rumors?

Illya had picked up the other photos to examine them. “These are very good photographs. I wonder what type of camera she used?”

“So we are in agreement? It has to be Angelique?”

Illya nodded, so Napoleon ventured, “Why don’t we ask her?” 

“Oh, no. I categorically refuse.”

“You don’t even know what I have planned,” Napoleon calmly replied.

“I know that look on your face. I don’t have to know what you plan to do to know I do not like it.”

It took almost an hour, but Napoleon finally managed to talk his partner into it. The plan was simple. Angelique wanted everyone to think they were having an affair, so they would and hopefully catch her in the act.

Act 2 - The Sting

It had taken the better part of two days planning to get to this point. Napoleon had just picked up the room key from the hotel and joined Illya near the elevator.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Illya muttered. 

“This will work. She won’t be able to resist.”

“How can you be so sure she will take the bait?”

“I had Wanda make the reservation.”

Illya just glared at Napoleon as he pushed the button that would take them to their floor.

Napoleon had picked the room with great care, not only was there a view to another room just across the way, but half the room was out of sight. Perfect for what he had in mind.

“Where did you get the money for this room?” Illya demanded.

Napoleon had no intention of telling him that he was flushed with cash, not having had to use any on dates lately. Ushering his partner into the room, Napoleon muttered, “Show time.” and led the way to the bedroom. He removed his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Carefully avoiding looking out the window, he positioned Illya so that anyone in the room across the way would have a clear view. 

“Are you ready?” Napoleon whispered as he pulled closer to Illya and nuzzled his neck.

“No, but I’m sure that won’t stop you,” Illya replied dryly.

Smiling, Napoleon started to unbutton Illya’s shirt as he placed a less then virtuous kiss upon his lips. He looked into his partner’s eyes as his hands went over the strong chest stopping to rest on one nipple. Illya’s eyes glazed. 

“That glazed look is excellent acting,” Napoleon remarked as he worked his mouth down to the other nipple.

“Who said I was acting?” Illya replied, trying to keep from moaning.

Napoleon went lower, until he was too low to be seen from the window, and with a smooth roll moved out of the line of sight. From this angle it would appear that Illya was receiving a blowjob. Napoleon just hoped Illya’s acting skills were up to the job.

Moving swiftly out the door, he made his way to the roof and across the rooftop. Finding the entrance to the other wing, he went down one floor. Using the pass key he had managed to appropriate earlier he quietly entered just in time to find Angelique reloading her camera. Pulling his gun he reached over and took the camera away pocketing the film she had removed. 

Angelique turned around quickly. When she realized here opponent was Napoleon she relaxed. “Darling, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be across the way?”

“Well, Angelique, it’s like this: my partner wanted to know what type of camera you were using. And I wanted to know why.”

“I’ll never tell.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You can either tell me, or I’ll just let Illya have you and you know he doesn’t like you.” He was wired for sound so he said out loud. “Illya, I got her. Get in touch with Mr. Waverly and have a clean-up crew sent down.” He looked out the window across the way to see his partner, buttoning up his shirt, nod.

“Okay, spill it,” Napoleon demanded softly, his gun trained on her.

“Well, if you insist. THRUSH wanted the two of you split up, and I thought this would be a good way. I always felt you cared just a little too much about your little Russian friend,” Angelique said coyly.

“I wouldn’t let him hear you call him that, if I were you.” Napoleon said with a smile, knowing Illya could hear every word.

Angelique just pouted.

Once back at headquarters with Angelique in tow, Napoleon assumed everything would go back to normal. How wrong could he be?

Act. 3 - A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Prague

Napoleon entered Illya’s office with a stack of paperwork waiting to be completed. Illya already had two stacks he was going through and did not look pleased. 

“Still having trouble with the secretaries?” Illya asked without looking up. 

Napoleon growled. Illya had more opportunities for dates then Napoleon would have thought possible. 

“Are you busy tonight?” Illya asked before he left the office. “I have two tickets to a symphony.”

“Surely you want one of your groupies to go with you,” Napoleon answered bitingly.

Illya ignored that. “I’d like to hear the concert, which I won’t be able to if I go with anyone else.”

Napoleon shrugged. “Just let me know when and where.”

Several days later Napoleon was heading down the hall on his way to communications when he ran into Illya carrying a suitcase. “Where are you off to?” 

Illya shrugged. “Mr. Waverly wants me to help out in Prague for a bit.” 

“That’s strange, I haven’t heard anything about it.” A lot of strange things had been going on since they had trapped Angelique. One would have thought everyone still believed the gossip Wanda had spread. “If you need any help, let me know.”

Illya nodded as he exited the building.

Twenty-four hours later, Napoleon entered communications. “Has anyone heard from Illya?”

Clarice, the communications monitor, said coolly, “We received a message when he arrived, but haven’t heard from him since.”

A worried Napoleon then got in touch with the travel section. “I want a reservation on the next plane out to Prague.”

“Are you sure that would be a good idea?” 

“I don’t recall asking your opinion,” Napoleon snapped before hanging up.

He was getting sick and tired of all the frosty voices around headquarters so as soon as the tickets were delivered he was out of there.

He arrived in Prague, jetlagged and grouchy. Going to the Prague office, he requested information on his partner. There wasn’t a whole lot. Illya had reported in on his arrival and twenty-four hours later he was missing.

Since there was nothing to go on, Napoleon did what he did best. He played it by ear and let himself be captured.

Less then twelve hours after his arrival in Prague, Napoleon found himself thrown in a cell with his erstwhile partner. “Ah, Mr. Kuryakin, I presume,” he quipped. Both of them had their hands manacled behind them and their feet bound.

“Napoleon,” Illya sighed. “I suppose you’ve come to rescue me?”

“That was the plan,” Napoleon said, looking closely at his friend for signs of damage. It was hard to tell in the dimness, but he thought Illya looked much the worse for wear. “Would you mind coming over here and removing my tie tack?”

Illya scooted closer and used his teeth to remove the tie tack, while Napoleon turned so that it could be deposited into his waiting hand. Working quickly with the lock pick that the tie tack contained he managed to removed the manacles and unbind his feet.

“You really have got to quit wearing those turtlenecks,” Napoleon stated as he removed several buttons from his pristine white shirt and used one to blow the door to their cell. With Illya right behind him, they made their way through the complex, using the other buttons to clear the way. Now armed, thanks to several THRUSH underlings that no longer needed their weapons, they were almost running out of targets. Napoleon was taking his frustrations out on anyone and everyone that got in his way when a sudden stab of pain entered his left shoulder. He didn’t realize he had been shot until the reinforcements arrived.

Act 4 – Just Plain Tired

Napoleon was throwing clothing into a suitcase, when Illya arrived. It wasn’t easy since one arm was in a sling. How do one armed people do this? It had taken him almost half an hour just to get dressed. 

“Going somewhere?” Illya asked, as he looked at the carnage his partner had wrought. 

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Where?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Napoleon grouched.

Illya, eyebrows raised, ventured, “Napoleon, what exactly is the problem?” 

“The problem is,” Napoleon answered through gritted teeth. “I haven’t had a date in months and I’ve been accused of doing things I haven’t even had the pleasure of enjoying. I’m tired and I’m angry and I just don’t give a fuck anymore.”

“Hmmm,” Illya said thoughtfully. “Sounds depressing.”

Napoleon glared at him.

“I happen to know of this quaint little inn just north of Moravia.” 

Napoleon gave him an intent look.

“Napoleon, would you like to do the things you haven’t had the pleasure of enjoying?”

Napoleon gave him an intent look with interest.

Illya sighed then reached over and grabbed his partner’s face to plant a long, slow and passionate kiss on him.

Napoleon, his eyes glazed, and only using one arm, returned the favor.

The END


	2. Tying Up Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to The Not-So-Fake Affair  
> Originally written 2004

Act I: Russian for Lunch

Illya had finally given in to his wildest fantasy. When he’d first heard the rumor about their ‘affair’ it had amused him, and as time passed it had obsessed him. Not that you would know to look at him. Outwardly he was the same calm, unperturbed agent as always.

“The problem is,” Napoleon had said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t had a date in months and I’ve been accused of doing things I haven’t even had the pleasure of enjoying. I’m tired and I’m angry and I just don’t give a fuck anymore.” 

Illya had taken pity on him and suggested going to this quaint inn just north of Moravia. 

“Well, what do you think?” Illya asked, as he opened the door to the modest suite, only to find himself picked up bodily and tossed onto the nearby bed. Napoleon may have had one arm out of commission, but he managed to remove all his partner's clothing in a very short time. 

Solo was a man of enormous talents. He was also a man with a very healthy libido and an enormous extremity. Many a woman had taken in the sight and demurred much to his regret. While it didn’t get as much use as it might be supposed, he was philosophical about it. He much preferred giving pleasure to giving pain, and with gentle and tender preparation those that allowed it did indeed receive great pleasure. For those that didn’t there were a great many ways of giving pleasure. Ways he intended to use on his Russian partner.

So it was that Illya had no time to make any protests, even if he’d felt so inclined. Solo, with one hand and a very talented mouth, was doing things to his body that he’d only dreamed about. For some perverse reason he finally managed to gasp out, “I had thought we’d have lunch first.”

“Did you say something?” Napoleon looked up from what he was doing. 

Illya could only shake his head no.

Act II: It was all a scam? 

Illya lay there completely sated, while his partner reclined next to him, still fully clothed. 

“I wasn’t aware you knew how…?” Illya asked when his senses returned.

“Well after all, Illya, I wouldn’t have been made CEA if I didn’t know a great deal about many things,” Napoleon said smugly as he used his one good hand to loosen his tie and unbutton the top button of his shirt. With his mind still on his plans for further entertainment he said absently, “If you only knew the trouble I went through talking Angelique and Mr. Waverly into going along with this.” He stopped when he realized what he had just said and wished he’d bitten his tongue.

Illya, his face red, shot off the bed. “What do you mean Angelique and Mr. Waverly?” He pulled at the sheet to cover his body. “What was this? Just a scam, to get me in bed with you?” 

Napoleon winced. It hadn’t started out that way, but basically he couldn’t deny it.

“And Wanda, I suppose she was in on it too?” Illya was so furious he was shaking.

“Wanda?” Napoleon responded apologetically. “No, I’m afraid Wanda doesn’t need a reason to spread rumors. Really, Illya…” 

“And all the women who wouldn’t date you? I suppose all that was part of the scam as well?” Illya retorted angrily.

Napoleon at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well I may have exaggerated a little on that point.”

“My god, Napoleon, you are such a bastard.” Illya was seething. He reached for his gun lying on the side table. 

Napoleon, his eyes wide, stared at the gun aimed in his direction. “Now, Illya, there’s no call…remember I’m an injured man.” He desperately tried to scoot further away from his partner. He didn’t like the mad glint he saw in the Russian’s eyes as the trigger was pulled.

Act. III Revenge is Sweet

Napoleon came to as the sleep dart wore off. The room was in darkness. He looked down to find that he was totally nude and handcuffed to the bed frame. He took in his surroundings and spotted Illya lounging at the foot of the bed, grinning evilly. “Was this necessary?” he asked dryly.

“Oh, yes, Napoleon,” Illya purred as he inched closer.

“Oookay.” Napoleon tested the handcuffs, the bullet wound in his shoulder hurt, but he was sure that would be the least of his problems. “Exactly what have you got planned?”

Illya didn’t say a thing; he just straddled his partners’ body and nuzzled his ear. He slowly started working his way down the American’s totally nude body, causing quakes of desire wherever his mouth happened to touch. Now that he had calmed down he had a definite agenda in mind, and having Napoleon under him moaning and groaning was part of it. His devious little mind had thought up several ideas. Having the extra cuffs in his bags had however been the deciding factor. 

He reached over for the bottle of cream and poured the lotion onto his hands not bothering to warm it and applied it directly to Napoleon's skin. He laughed to himself when Napoleon arched as the cold cream touched his body. A low moan escaped from Napoleon as Illya gently worked his hands down the body under him, nipping at the erect nipples. Then he got down lower and coated the now hard erection.

“Illya, no.” Napoleon, having an idea as to what would happen next, was now squirming urgently trying to get loose. “Come on you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m begging you to stop.”

“Really, Napoleon, you should enjoy this.” Illya was amused. The idea of Napoleon begging appealed to him, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered why Napoleon was protesting. He moved into position, his body hovered over the large cock and with one swift movement impaled himself. 

“Noooo,” Napoleon cried out thru gritted teeth. He tried desperately to control to his body having failed to discourage his partner from this course of action. Unfortunately it felt too good and when it was over his partner lay slumped over him. “Illya -- Illya, are you okay?” he asked anxiously, but there was no answer. He pulled at the handcuffs, desperate to check on his partner. He tore the headboard apart, his anger at himself gave him superhuman strength.

When he had one arm free, he gently moved his partner off of him, and somehow managed to retrieve the key and unlock the rest of the cuffs. Rolling Illya onto his back, he examined the damage. “Damn,” he said as he found his communicator and opened the channel. “Open Channel L, please, emergency.”

When Channel L answered he requested the aid of Dr. Michael Pike who had been in the vicinity to attend to Napoleon’s shoulder. He was a friend and Napoleon knew he could be counted on to help and would ask no questions.

“Dr. Pike, here.”

“Mike, it's Napoleon. I need you here. Now. It’s Illya.” Napoleon managed to get out. 

"What about him?"

"He took me by surprise," Napoleon babbled. "I wasn't prepared."

“Damn. I’ll be there shortly,” Dr. Mike Pike said before closing the channel.

Napoleon hurriedly got dressed before climbing back into the bed to hold on to Illya until help arrived. “Illya, why didn’t you listen…I told you not to.” He wasn’t sure if Illya heard him.

Illya dimly heard the anguish in Napoleon’s voice followed by the knock at the door. Napoleon left him to allow someone to enter.

“Napoleon, how many times do I have to warn you about that big dick of yours,” Mike stated.

“Honestly, Mike, I never intended…” Napoleon countered as he moved aside.

“Sure you didn’t.” Mike sneered. “Then why did you bring him here?”

“I didn’t. He brought me,” Napoleon said with indignation.

Dr. Mike Pike, his expression doubtful, looked at the man on the bed, the bloodstain sheets and busted headboard. Picking up the handcuffs he muttered, “Kinky.” before pulling the sheet away to access the damage. He glanced up at Napoleons drawn face. “You know better then this.”

“I swear, Mike, I never meant…it wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Napoleon groaned. He placed his head in his hands as he fell into the nearby chair.

“It wasn’t his fault,” A lightly accented voice said from the bed.

Both men turned to look at the slight man and in unison declared, “Shut up.”

Surprisingly the Russian did as he was told as Napoleon came over and placed himself behind his partner to hold him steady while the doctor worked. “Illya, I’m so sorry, I did try to warn you.”

Illya just lay there, squirming slightly from the pain. His eyes were on the syringe the doctor was preparing.

“This is a local anesthesia. I’m going to have to do a little sewing on you,” Mike explained.

“I don’t understand,” Illya gasped. “How…why?”

As he sewed up the worst of the damage, Dr. Pike queried, “What is it you don’t understand? What happened to you?”

“No, I think I understand that,” Illya said dryly as shook his head. “What I don’t understand is how -- you happened to be here.”

“I’d like to think it was just happy happenstance, but knowing Napoleon as I do something told me to stay near, I’ve always been a little psychic like that,” he said as he finished up. He spared a glance for Napoleon.

“You knew?” Illya voiced indignantly.

“Knew? Yes. But I thought your partner had more sense,” he answered glaring at Napoleon.

Napoleon didn’t look at him, the distress on his face was obvious, and so Mike relented just a little. “Let me take a look at that shoulder.”

When Napoleon had tried to free himself the wound had started to bleed again and more sewing took care of that. Mike knew Napoleon was in pain, thought the emotional pain seem to have blotted the physical pain out.

Packing his bag he gave both men some final instructions. “Napoleon, I would suggest not using that arm if you can help it. Illya, no solid foods for at least a week, and plenty of bed rest. You’re going to be very sore for quite a while. This should be a lesson to both of you.”

“No solid food?” Illya protested.

“No, you can piss all you want, but…,” he said before leaving the room. “Call me if you need me,” he told Napoleon. “I hope to God you don’t need me.”

Illya went pale. Looking up at his partner he asked, “What now?”

Napoleon shook his head. “I don’t know. I can understand if you don’t ever want me to…”

“Napoleon?” Illya said as he snuggled closer. “Don’t be such an ass. I should have known better. Next time we’ll be better prepared.

Napoleon looked down at him to whisper, “Are you sure?”

“But of course, I didn’t go through all this to stop now.” He yawned before closing his eyes to sleep.

The End.


End file.
